Page 9 of Taken By the Mafia King
I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I just started living.
Jim.
I closed my eyes and the darkness behind my lids glittered with fantasies of a disco ball shimmering over the heads of students as they danced an arm’s length apart. I imagined Jim taking my hand when nobody was looking and taking me out into the hall outside the gymnasium where it smelled like sweaty gym bags, dirty socks, and Axe body spray. I pictured him pulling me in close, grazing my lip with his soft thumb so unlike the callused hands that had been running all over my body before. I felt his lips, warm and velvet soft against mine. But it wasn’t real. Only the tears streaming down my cheeks were.
Had it really only been a few hours since I’d been speaking to Jim in the school parking lot? How much time had passed? Had he or Emma riddled out that I was missing yet?
I wasn’t sure, but as I curled my fingers over the first-aid kit and opened it, finding it bare bones with nothing but a shred of what looked like used gauze and a few packets of pre-soaked alcohol wipes, I closed my eyes and let my fantasies run wild, imagining the kidnappinghadn’thappened. That I’d simply gotten into my shitty old car and driven to the home I shared with Emma.
I’d have gone upstairs to our apartment and started making spaghetti and meatballs for dinner with the jars of fresh tomatoes I’d canned over the summer. I’d make it the same way my Nonna always had—stewed for two whole days with fresh basil, sea salt, lemon, and garlic.
Emma would’ve come home from her afternoon meeting with theMathletesand we would’ve joked about our day over pasta and wine, then sat on the couch and graded papers while reality TV trilled in the background. She’d tell me I have nobusiness being such a good cook. I’d tell her the dishes were on her. She’d put up a teasing fight, but would eventually cave, and once the kitchen was righted and our home smelled like the bergamot candle on the coffee table, we’d start getting ready for bed.
While we stood side by side in the bathroom washing our faces, I would have told her about Jim asking me out for drinks. She would have been so, so excited for me—for us.
And then she’d have helped me pick out a dress for the dance. Something modest, of course, but I would have taken off my cardigan before Jim and I went into the bar after the dance.
Emma would have made me pack the heels I could barely walk in that made my petite frame look several inches taller. Like she did with washing the dishes, I would have protested and then caved.
Jim would have flirted with me. I’d blush and flirt back. And at the end of the night, he’d kiss me, asking me out again. I’d have been glad I wore the heels even though they pinched my toes.
Eventually, we would’ve gotten married, bought a house, and realized that dream of adopting a golden retriever.
My hands burned as I passed the alcohol-soaked wipe over my torn and blistered wrists, but my breathing began to return to normal as I tossed the bloodied wipe aside and looked at the metal door shielding me from the outside world, from my life, from freedom and everyone I loved.
I’d escaped this life before. I’d thrown caution to the wind. I’d survived the storm and found a way to live.
And I would continue to do so. I promised myself. I would live. I would live. I would LIVE.
CHAPTER 9
SERA
Iclutched the sheet to my chest as a young woman entered the room. She was dressed in a pale blue uniform of some kind, her mousy brown hair pulled away from her face. I knew as soon as I laid eyes on her that my hopes of a rescue were foolish.
She held a tray of food in one hand and a plastic bag in the other.
“Hi.” She didn’t look me in the eyes when she spoke. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on the tray of food. “I brought you something to eat and change into.”
“I need out of here,” I said, “not food and clothes.”
A guard moved into place outside the door as she closed it behind her. My heart fell into my stomach as a crushing weight settled there. What lengths would he go to in order to make sure I didn’t set one toe out of this prison? Was he waiting for his turn with me, like Gabriele had promised him? How patient a man could he be? Would he wait? Or if he saw an opportunity… I shook my head, scattering my thoughts. I couldn’t focus on every little threat right now. There were too many stacked against me, closing in, suffocating me. I took a slow breath.
“I’ll get you some new sheets, too. And a blanket,” the woman said as she walked to the other side of the room and set myfood on a wooden crate. She pointed to a showerhead sticking out of the wall that I hadn’t noticed before. “The water is always cold, but I found you some shampoo and some soap. It’s lemon scented.” She said that last part like she’d done me a favor.
I noticed her voice sounded almost slurred, like she had a hard time pronouncing the words. It wasn’t until she stepped back into the light that I noticed her cracked front teeth and the healing, greenish yellow bruises on her face. Her nose was slightly off kilter from more than one break.
Oh God. I’m in Hell.
“You should try to eat,” she coaxed, giving me a sympathetic look as she started pulling things out of the plastic bag. She stepped toward me holding a worn-out, stained terry cloth robe, but I stepped back. Her eyes wandered over my neck, and she let out her breath. “I’m sorry you’re here.”
“How do I get out?”
“You can’t.” She stared at me with unblinking pity. “You really can’t. They all try, you know. There’s nothing—nothing that can be done at this point.”
“Is he going to kill me? Please just… tell me the truth.”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
